Being pregnant means worrying about the future. That’s what I do best. Every now and then, though, I am shot down from worrying about the future by being depressed about the past. I am not one to dwell on the negative things that have already passed–not when times a wasting on future things to worry about.

But lately, I’ve been reminded that “we’re all terminal.” Maybe these thoughts have been in part a result of us deciding to name our daughter after my dead grandmothers. Or maybe it’s because I deal with death as a part of my job. But I know that the real reason is a dear friend is dying of cancer. She was diagnosed in October–about 3 weeks before I got pregnant. She was told (I know because I was with her in the doctor’s office) that the cancer was probably minor and that she’d have the “aggravation” of chemotherapy for about eight months and then make a full recovery. By the time I had learned I was pregnant, she was already in the hospital dealing with a greatly enlarged spleen. It’s been a very bumpy road from that point. It seems that now the doctor is just working on getting her strong enough to be able to move out of state to be with her son. To die.

I visited her in ICU after her surgery to remove her spleen. Everyone I’ve ever seen in ICU looks like they are preparing to lie in a coffin; she was no exception. This was in October. As I drove home after that visit, I wept. Cancer is no way to die. To have the body deteriorate over time (but not too long!) with the mind still fully aware, what a nightmare. This was when her prognosis was still quite positive.

I haven’t seen her since Christmas–she’s canceled me coming for a visit on 3 separate occasions. We’re going to try again later this week. But, honestly, I am not looking forward to seeing her. She’ll be thinner than last time and with less hope. I fear I won’t know what to say. She says that if it’s her time to go, she’s had a good life. Boy, that’s incredible to me. I’ve had a good life, too, SO FAR. But how do you ever get to the point where you say, “I’m ready; I’m done”? Only if the pain were so bad and the outlook so bleak and the drain on my loved ones too great could I get there. And even then, I’d spend my last months depressed and worried. How is that to live–even as you die? I mean, any one of us could get hit by that proverbial bus tomorrow and be gone. But we don’t live like that’s a possibility–at least I don’t. So how does one cope when they are told the bus is scheduled to arrive in 3 months? Maybe they find peace in the belief of an afterlife. In prayer. In God. But they still have 3 months to live (or die, depending on how you see it), and I worry about change in THIS life enough that worrying what the next life would really be like would not, I fear, give me much relief.

I asked Captain Sarcastic, a former professional clown, one day years ago that if we died separately how would I find him in the next life, even assuming there is one. He said, “Look for my big red shoes.” He doesn’t remember telling me that and certainly wasn’t serious when he said it (though I was serious with my question). But I always think of that when I get to this point in my worry about death. For me, its the talisman I need to hold onto. I have a TASK once I die. It isn’t just “do nothing; let go.” So that’s what I’ll do–I’ll look for his shoes. I guess, then, that I’d better outlive him.